


Inside Job

by Thundercatroar



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kindred Spirits, Putting out fires before they get out of hand - Freeform, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thundercatroar/pseuds/Thundercatroar
Summary: Sometimes you find sympathetic allies in the most unlikely, and wonderfully strange of places.
Kudos: 7





	Inside Job

It hadn't been an easy morning, but then again, it seldom was.

The weekend too, no one was going to be absent because of work, but she had a foolproof plan to have everyone out from under her feet so she could have some time alone.

Gertrude Shortman took a long gulp of coffee out of a heavy white, chipped and aged ceramic cup that was older than she was, and true to form faced her day with a fiery spirit that other octogenarians could only wish to have.

She made fluffy pancakes, savory sausage links, well toasted, but not quite burnt toast because Abner distracted her, eggs cooked to order, smooth grits, and a special red eye gravy that she learned to make while working as a cook in a southern sawmill as she wandered the earth with her father's wealth looking for herself.

After performing the thankless task of cooking and serving breakfast, Gertie finished the complicated latticework for the last of three fresh peach pies she was baking as dessert for dinner. With a quick swipe of her damp brow, she completed pinching her top crusts on with damp or floured fingertips when needed, and as she did, the old woman patiently listened to Oskar complain about the stinginess of the breakfast portions she served, even though he had indulged in three helpings, while Ernie Potts alternately complained about Oskar's complaining.

While Phil's head was buried behind the sports section of the paper, he thanked her for making peach pie, which she appreciated, but then he had to ruin it by begging her to put too much sugar in it again.

When Gertie raised her wooden stirring spoon aloft, it made the ancient **MISS HILLWOOD** sash draped over her shoulder fall down to her neck. As she held the diamond tiara on her head with the other hand, she admonished Phil with a light tap on his head with the spoon, informing him that the best peach pies had a bit of tart to them.

While rubbing his smarting head, Phil ignored his wife for the most part, feeling the need to regale everyone in the dining room about the perils of eating raspberries.

Like an ancient penitent flagellate during one of the great black plague epidemics seeking to punish himself for wrong doing through physical duress, Phil insisted upon eating her raspberry cobblers; and seeded homemade preserves, despite that he knew what would happen to his delicate stomach without fail.

Sometimes Gertie thought that her attention-loving husband recited the disgusting effects of his gastronomic comings and goings in such in graphic detail simply because he enjoyed the drama of it before physics forced him to run to the basement for his moment of anal karma.

So, with a tell tale gurgle of his irritable gut, Phil ran from the table with the sports section of The Hillwood Times folded under his arm, and Ernie took the opportunity to grind a pat of butter into Oskar's ear with his curly haired knuckles.

As far as Gertie could tell, Mr. Smith was the second easiest person to look after in the whole house, and she was grateful for him in that all she had to do to make him happy was send a plate of food up a vacuum tube, then wash it for the next meal.

Well that, and leave him alone, but that was even easier.

Everyone in the house except her and Arnold resented the mysterious man's conspicuous lack of interaction with the others. They were a cobbled together family of sorts, and she loved all the boarders in her own way, but frankly, Gertie preferred Mr. Smith's benign isolationism compared to some of the other boarders personalities such as Ernie's brusque, rather descriptive vernacular, or Oskar's criminal recidivism.

Gertie reasoned that even though Mr. Smith had never uttered a word to her once in his nine year stay at the Sunset Arms as a tenant, he at least had the decency to give her a thank you card through the air chute every once and awhile, and never complained.

The easiest person to look after in the house and the only person who told her breakfast was good that morning before clearing his own place was Arnold.

Gertrude felt it was in a way terrible to think about some things the way she did, but the boy was the only person on the lot that she cared was happy or not for the most part that morning.

Focusing on the strange behavior of the boy that morning, typical teenager, he was in a hurry to go seemingly nowhere. Instead of getting ready for a friendly football game, and chatting with everyone at the table about either the sports he played at school, or what insane crisis he had nursed an unwise friend through, Arnold bolted down his food in three literal gulps. After cleaning his place, Arnold glanced out of the sitting room window, raked his fingers through his wild blonde hair, and ran upstairs to brush his teeth.

When Gertrude asked her favorite cowpoke what the hurry was, he rifled through the refrigerator looking for bottles of Yahoo with a blush, and the only reply she received was a secretive explanation that his history paper project partner was coming over in a few minutes, and he had to get ready.

Sharp-eyed, Gertrude had observed that the excited boy had gone as far as to tuck in his unruly shirttails, and douse his mouth in that electric green mouthwash in the medicine cabinet that was so strong that it could have been made by a foul-mouthed, one-eyed “retired” bootlegger that once lived there decades ago named “Popcorn” Sutton.

He kept to himself, tried to be quiet, and was never late with the rent, but back then Mister Sutton was as retired from the American tradition of illegal moonshining, as Mr. Purdy upstairs wasn’t living with a flock of pet chickens in his old room currently.

As much a part of Popcorn’s presence as the old corncob pipe perpetually clenched between his teeth, the salty old devil also had a three legged, well-mannered, brindle-coated Boston bull terrier that seemed to be attached him by an invisible thread. Like his owner, Tige also had a fondness for drink that his master indulged him in frequently, and when the dog was inebriated by the bathtub gin brewed upstairs, Gertie had to admit that the results were tragically hilarious.

When Gertie burst out in raucous laughter at the memory of the poor, uneven dog falling over in an undignified lump on the sitting room floor to sleep it off, everyone obviously thought she was having another lapse in sanity. Soon, Arnold bounded towards her from the hall, kissed her cheek with an exuberance that was endearing, and then ran back up the steps for what she surmised was a final check of his person before resuming the maddening watch for his mystery visitor.

With experience from her son, Miles, Gertrude wondered if the application of both oral antiseptics and a nearly overdone splash of inexpensive cologne meant that Kimba’s partner for the project was not Colonel Binghampton, or another male acquaintance, but a young lady instead.

When the doorbell rang, Arnold ran down the steps from the second floor with the loud announcement of he would get it, eventually tripping, and tumbling down the rest of the way. Her grandson recovered well enough with a mild swear she couldn't censure him for because of his speed galloping past the kitchen, finally reaching the foyer out of breath and hurriedly adjusting his disheveled clothing.

That series of events removed all doubt from Gertie's mind.

When she stepped inside, the overzealous boy didn't offer to take his acquaintance into the kitchen, almost dragging her upstairs, but Gertrude made it to the door just in time to see the girl that had chosen Arnold to be her partner.

She politely said hello, and made the cursory request for information on her well-being with a friendly smile, actually curtseyed, a quaint deferential display of respect she had outgrown, and employed since childhood, obviously meant to impress.

Gertie's eyebrow rose when she watched the couple retreat up the stairs towards Arnold's room, her grandson obviously ever so overjoyed to be in the presence of the girl with the fading freckles, and long auburn tresses.

As Gertrude blew hot air out of her nostrils, she took crusty egg yolk, maple syrup, and toast crumb encrusted plates that resembled fresh hell over to the sink to soak; she filled a plastic bucket with hot soapy water to swab the floor. Facing away from the boarders, and fighting a smile, Gertie cleared her throat and announced with the finest pirate imitation she could muster, “Which one of you landlubbers wants to help me police the mess hall?”

Once the slightest whiff of work was in the air, there was the sound of chairs scooting away from the table hurriedly, and once the scrambling footfalls became distant, Gertie felt it was safe to turn and place the full bucket of hot water on the floor.

Proud of the peace she had earned for herself in less than ten seconds, Gertie found she had plenty of precious time to enjoy the Blue Öyster Cult cassette tape that was still inside the obsolete Walkman when she bought for fifty cents at the thrift store.

After placing her three large peach pies into the oven to bake, bubble, and caramelize, she set to work on her chores, and over the hour, Gertie washed dirty dishes, greased her trusty black pans, cleaned the kitchen counters, and was currently finishing her job by mopping the floor. As she labored, Gertie made a few of her own observations about the young lady and her grandson, and for the life of her, Mrs. Shortman could not discern why she felt the way that she did about a great many things, including what was going on upstairs, as well as the pitfalls and rose colored glasses of adolescent love.

Through her studies of Buddhism, and the tasty cellophane wrapped fortune cookies she liked from Fung Chong's, Gertie had learned that for every yin there was a yang. As the introduction of Godzilla began to play, Gertie could not put her finger on the reason why she wasn’t enthused with the girl who was upstairs alone and behind a closed bedroom door with her naive grandson.

True, Miss Sawyer was always polite, not only to her, but also to everyone she met, and Gertie was almost sure that Lila could give Anne Shirley of Green Gables fame advice on innocent sweetness, married with a genius for trouble.

Underneath that saccharine charm, and all the genteel posturing that was almost too good to be true though, there was something not quite _disco_ about that girl.

Something that wasn‘t good for Arnold.

Gertie would not go as far as to think the girl was loose, but it was as if Lila dangled herself on a thin line of flirting charm, just out of reach of all the fishes that would nibble.

It was an old, shameless game, and Gertie had the feeling that Lila Sawyer was not a victim worm, but more akin to the deadly golden hook that glinted with deadly brightness in the sunlight, its true purpose hidden with a reward that hadn’t been freely given yet.

Once that bright, glinting hook drew in its prey, and the true victim struck the lure, it eventually hurt the ensnared, leaving marks of pain that once inflicted, took a long time to fade away, if ever.

In that moment, Gertie stumbled upon it, and that was why she was so set against her.

Lila was just too sweet for her taste.

In fact, the brix of the girl was so strong; Gertrude felt that if she had any teeth left in her head, Lila would surely make the enamel slide clean off them.

The truth of it was Gertie thought, that as unromantic as the notion sounded, Arnold needed the stability of someone who had the personality of her old cast iron cooking pans.

Passed down for three generations from one Shortman wife to another, they were a little rough around the edges and hard to deal with from time to time. Looking at them as they dried in the sink, Gertie had to admit the pans weren’t much to look at on the surface, but they did shine in their own way, and had a primitive beauty that only maturity could bring. Her over one hundred year old pans were always there whenever she needed them, and if she cared for and seasoned them with love that was true, they would last through anything unfalteringly, and come out on the other side stronger than ever.

It wouldn't do any good to talk to her grandson about ideas such as those though. The boy had his grandfather Phil's stubborn streak, and Miles’ penchant for crushes on the last girl he needed to have one on, and just as Arnold had learned a hard lesson from Ruth MacDougall, he would do the same with the current girl that he had placed on an undeserving pedestal, finding a fall not too far away.

Soon enough, Gertie's mind dwelled on the mystery girls in Arnold's life.

One wrote a little pink book full of poetry and prose, both bemoaning, yet celebrating the beautiful, truthful love she felt for her Arnold.

Though it happened years ago, Arnold was enthralled by Cecile, and that wild, confusing Valentine’s Day evening full of enchanting deceptions on both sides.

Even though he didn't know who either of them were, the wise old woman knew that her dear, yet hopelessly confused Arnold never quite forgot about either of them either, because he still had the pink book and oversized shoe tucked away safely in the back of the closet with all his other treasures.

Of course, Cecile was probably perfectly able to wear that shoe by now.

Realizing that her deluded Arnold had a lot he needed to learn, and some growing up too before he was ready for the true love that was forced to patiently wait for him, Gertie decided not to meddle.

The timer sounded with a resounding high-pitched ring, so Gertie turned off her oven, and then cracked the door halfway open, placing a stick in so it wouldn't slam shut. In rapt anticipation, the accomplished baker peered inside at the fruits of her intensive labor, and was not disappointed, for what greeted her sight were three beautiful, bubbling, dark brown sugar crusted lattice topped peach pies smiling back at her, asking for sampling.

She would have gladly taken them up on their seductive offer too, but instead, the responsible woman finished her work, using the reward of a sample of the hot, tart pie as an incentive to finish up. Just as she mopped towards the sink, and reflected that the second half of her day was going to be as disinteresting as the first, in her peripheral vision, Dear Lord, there she was, again!

The old woman took the worn headphones off her ears still buzzing with talk of burning, and placed them and the tape player down on the table. After wiping her wet hands on her apron, and slopping a grey mop that should have been white back into her half-full bucket, Gertie watched in amazement from the kitchen window as the sneaking young woman took a quick glance around the perimeter and down the shadowed alleyway before stealthily ducking down it.

Only able to see half the metal structure above the window that the young girl was already halfway up, the perceptive old woman caught the colors of youth through her crooked bi-focal glasses while straining to hold her torso up over the sink.

A shock of the most radiant blonde tied into a neat ponytail with a light blue ribbon bounced with her body's movement, and she was wearing faded blue jeans with tattered white frayed holes, her smooth pinkish knees poking through. The pièce de résistance to the casual outfit though, was a black tee shirt with the outline of hand with an extended phalange on it requesting that the informed reader, " _#%$ & AUTHORITY_".

Gertie wasn't so sure what the word #%$& was, but with a sizeable rebellious streak of her own, and a wide knowing grin, the old woman wagered the expression wasn't too nice.

Strangely enough, the enterprising blonde was toting a length of cutting, unforgiving twisted hemp rope with her, and there wasn't a sign of gloves anywhere on her person.

To finish her uniform, the private first class was sporting surplus combat boots that made slightly less noise on the metal fire escape grates than Oskar Kokoshka cursing his losses at the dog track.

Gertrude was glad that the girl was wearing proper footwear at least, she remembered all too well that covert operations could not be easily performed in high heels, and she should know, because she had done it while on a mission with Monkeyman and two of Charlie’s Angels last week, and she had to soak her feet for two days afterwards.

As she observed a stiff, makeshift slipknot quickly tied and several throws and cursed misses, Gertie wished that the girl could find better ways to spend her time until Arnold bought a vowel, and got a clue.

It would either be that, or tell her grandson how the shy girl how she felt about herself, because it was obvious she loved him.

Gertie knew she had always loved him, just as she had openly tormented Phil but loved him in secret when she was a young girl.

Then again, Gertrude couldn't do that either, because it would be a betrayal of the highest regard, and girls had to stick together, right?

For Helga's own good, she wouldn't tell her secret.

It wasn't that Gertrude thought the girl was outright crazy, but God in Heaven, there was no way in the world that you could be in a love the likes of theirs, and not be a bit touched in the head either.

Frankly, Gertie Shortman admired both the purity of Helga's love, and the wildness of her obsession, but she did wish that the girl would be a little more safe with her poor man's double naught spy routine, because as she watched her struggle to get onto the roof, she almost slipped and fell twice.

All of that sneaking around and pratfall filled spying Helga did on Arnold when she was nine years old was fine back then because her bones hadn't fully fused, but now that she had almost reached adulthood, Miss Pataki's one girl Howard brothers act was going to backfire someday, and she was going to get hurt badly.

" _Hurt_." Gertrude said with a silent whisper against the palm of her surprised hand, and an urgent exhale of hot breath from her being as she felt her heart plunge, and soon the concerned woman ran out of the kitchen to bound up the steps towards her grandson's room with an urgency that was dreadful.

From the eager smile and hurried attitude of her grandson that morning, she wondered if the couple was working on their history project as diligently as they might want her to think, and as such, Gertie could only hope that nothing had transpired yet.

With a falling heart, she knew how things were progressing between her grandson and Miss Sawyer, and she wondered when their relationship of "like you" would develop into "like you like you", if that was still the terminology used.

Without knocking, Gertrude burst into Arnold's bedroom, and the seated couple separated with the speed of relativity with their faces painted pure crimson.

There could have possibly been a string of spittle there connecting the couple's lips, but Gertie didn't even bother to regard the kids she caught, rather than that; she favored looking upwards to study the skylight.

Feeling relief at first, Gertie thought that she had averted disaster, but on the lower right hand side of one of the windows, two opaque handprints glinted in the sunlight, highlighted with faint traces of red blood, followed by the sight of wispy strands of blonde hair sweeping away from the corner of the window.

The light warm breeze blowing outside soon made a drifting blue ribbon settle the skylight window, as Arnold was in the beginnings of making an excuse where none was needed.

As Gertie looked at the two, obviously bracing for a lecture about how they were too young for such, and the consequences of worse, Gertie surprised them both with an apology for the invasion of their privacy, followed by a light slam of the door as she trotted back down the steps.

When she was a little girl, her kind father, who was a biology professor at State College, would take her on walks and educate her on plants, and animals, especially their behaviors. As a child, her favorite animals were rabbits, and her father taught her that even though rabbits were fast runners, and cunning escape artists, if a predator did not give an immediate chase, they would not expend more energy than needed to flee.

Pausing to walk into an empty room on the second floor to peer downwards outside the window, Gertie wondered if the same applied to timid girls who wore the bristling disguise of a bully.

As Gertie looked down, she couldn't see the girl below because of the cast plate flooring of the fire escape, but she could hear her, and instantly the old woman's heart went out to her.

With a heavy heart, Gertie realized that just as much as her grandson had to learn about love, so too did her innocent rabbit that fled in the face of Arnold’s unknown infidelity. Gertie wished that she could tell the misguided girl that kisses do not a permanent love make, and certainly do not bond the ones who indulged forever by any stretch of the imagination.

With a the weary sigh of someone who was about to take on a truly difficult task and see it through to the end, no matter how hard it was going to be, Gertrude Shortman walked down to the kitchen, opened up the oven, and got out one of the still warm pies to cut.

As she ducked her head slightly out the window over the clean sink to make sure her petite lapin was still there, the generous soul took down a good plate from the wall commemorating the nineteen thirty nine World's Fair, and placed an extra large slice of warm comfort onto it.

After placing a heaping scoop of vanilla bean ice cream to the side of the pie along with a fork, she bent opening fifty years worth of peanut butter jars.

As a garnish, Gertie scattered a handful of round, multi-colored, sugar frosted cereal frequently used to describe her mental state on top of everything. Gertie was a good hostess, and wanted the food to look pretty for company.

After getting a linen napkin, and putting on her favorite hat, which was still a well worn pith helmet she found in the attic, the one Phil regularly threatened to throw out if he saw it one more time, Gertie walked out the front door and onto the stoop. Looking towards the alley access that lead to the fenced in yard and garage, Gertie wanted to guarantee that her guest could not abscond without detection.

To anyone else it would look like a sidewalk, but as she traveled farther from camp, and deeper into the forbidding bush of the Jungle Arms, Bwana heard crickets chirp, elephants trumpet, tribal drums beat, and big cats growl with ferocity. Hugging her back to the brick wall, and ducking under the fire escape while lifting clothesline vines that impeded her progress, she artfully balanced the plate in her hand.

In anticipation of her first contact with the wildlife that had roosted in her domain, Gertie felt just like Jane Goodall groping her way through the deep forests of Africa to study a troop of wild chimpanzees.

Carefully climbing up onto the escape, just enough to push the piece of pie up on the level that the injured animal she was tracking sat upon, Gertie’s heart pounded with a mingled feeling of both anticipation, and fear.

When not charged, Bwana crouched, and patiently waited for the right moment to make her presence fully known. It took a few minutes, three at the most, but finally, she saw the plate pull away from the edge of the fire escape, heard metal lightly clatter on porcelain, and Bwana felt it was the right time to try to make contact with the wounded creature she shared a kinship with.

With care, the brave explorer slowly and silently made her ascent up a last flight of rusty steps towards her quarry. Being the most experienced beater on the expedition, Bwana knew that one false move might force her quarry to flee, so she approached in a way that was the least threatening, quiet, but audible.

As Gertie poked her head up over the last step, just enough to place her eye level with the floor of the escape, she saw Helga Pataki picking over the food she offered her, but not eating it. When the girl finally looked up at Gertrude, she was not crying as she had been when Gertie peered down at her from the second story window, but her red swollen face and eyes indicated that she had been earlier.

Now, the girl resembled someone sentenced to death who had resided herself to her fate, even going as far as to embrace the rope she brought along with her, as if it were going to stretch her neck, and release her from the hurt of this mortal plane.

With a small groan, Gertie made her stiff muscles and old bones lower her to the warm floor of the fire escape, and then scooted over to Helga until her hip met hers. The understanding old woman then turned to her side, crooking her head with her half lidded eyes, holding Helga's attention with the action.

There were no questions for the kind old woman to ask of the girl because she knew all the answers, nor did she attempt to advise Helga, because she knew the last thing her charge wanted to hear on top of a broken heart was a mouthful of that.

What Gertie did do, was merely outstretch her arms to the hurting girl, and invite Helga into them with the genuine promise of being loved unconditionally. "Oh, Eleanor," Gertie said with sympathy, "Come here, Dear."

Without a thought, Helga fell into them and began to sob.

As she held the fragile girl, Gertie reflected that she was only sixteen, and much too young to bear pain like this, self-inflicted or not.

As the kind woman comforted the heartbroken girl with gentle strokes on her long blonde hair, Gertie rocked Helga as if she was her own sweet baby as the young girl quietly wept and hugged her tightly.

It was a forgone conclusion she and Arnold, but Gertrude made a promise to Helga that she was going to help her any way she could.

They were kindred spirits after all, and girls of a like mind did have to stick together.

Right?

"It's okay, sweet baby, I'm here." She promised aloud as she kissed the crown of Helga's warm head, "I'm _here_."

After an indeterminate period Helga settled, and Gertie patted Helga on the back with a wide toothless grin while looking her in the eyes. “Do you know how to cook, Miss Pataki?”

Helga was still somewhat distraught, but not so much so that she couldn’t give the old woman a strange look, but she did confess, “Well, no, not really. I usually just throw something frozen into the microwave at home and eat whatever happens after the chime goes off.”

"Oh, no no, **no,** " Gertie tisked repeatedly and shook her head as if it were the most sinful thing she ever heard in her entire life. “That just won’t do, my dear, _every_ girl should how to cook." Gertie added wistfully, “I _suppose_ I _could_ teach you how to to cook if you‘d _like._ ” Gertrude added nonchalantly, “I’ve been teaching Arnold along, so showing you two together will kill two birds with one stone.” As Helga’s eyes widened at the prospect of hope offered to her on a silver platter, Gertie proudly informed, “Besides, I want to introduce you to my collection of pans, you remind me a lot of them.”

Gertie held out her hand for Helga to shake, and knowing a good deal when she heard it, the girl sniffled with a smile, wiped her damp nose on the back of her hand, and then took the old woman’s hand to seal their unspoken deal. “I’d love to meet your pans, Mrs. Shortman.”

Helga rose, and then gently helped Gertie get up, and as they walked down the steps, the girl took a taste of pie. Gertie knew it was rude to ask, but her curiosity getting the better of her, she could stand it no longer and wondered, “How is it?”

Helga’s eyes brightened as she took a second, much larger forkful of pie into her mouth. In between the cool crunch of the cereal-laden ice cream, and the buttery peach infused crust, she honestly declared, “All of it is really good, but the peaches are the best part, because I like fruit pies a little tart.”

Gertie put her arm around Helga’s shoulder and rubbed it as they walked up the alleyway towards the front door for their first lesson. “That’s my Eleanor!"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The instrumental "Jungle Arms" was composed by Jim Lang; and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The cereal named Froot Loops belongs to the Kellogg's Company. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name and likeness of "Tige" is a trademark of the Brown Shoe Company Inc, and is the name of the dog pictured beside Buster Brown in ad campaigns beginning in 1904, based on the comic strips created and drawn by Richard Felton Outcault. No infringement on either of the properties is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The character Anne Shirley and the book "Anne of Green Gables" was created by Lucy Maud Montgomery. No infringement on her property or the publisher who owns the rights now, is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Howard brothers I refer to, Larry, Moe, and Curly; featured in the Three Stooges shorts, and are owned by Columbia Pictures/Sony Entertainment. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Charlie’s Angels, (the 1970’s television series) was created by Ivan Goff, and Ben Roberts, produced by Aaron Spelling and Leonard Goldberg, and is now owned by Columbia/Sony Pictures Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Walkman was developed by, and is a registered trademark of Sony Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The songs Burnin’ for You and Godzilla were performed by Blue Öyster Cult. No infringement on their property, or record label is implied, nor should be inferred.


End file.
